


When The Party's Over

by cuphalffull



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Banter, But lots of fun too, But they aren't together in this story, Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor Harry Potter, Drabbles, Eventual Romance, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, I Love Ginny, OC is the new Potions teacher, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Slow Burn, Trauma, brief mentions of past addiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-16
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:34:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 5,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22273414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cuphalffull/pseuds/cuphalffull
Summary: Audrey Moore is the new Potions Master. Harry is the Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor.Both are still trying to find themselves, four years after the end of the war.(Non-linear drabbles of a slow-burn relationship. Deals with plenty of hurt left by the war, but there's lots of fun and happiness to be found here.)
Relationships: Hannah Abbott/Neville Longbottom, Harry Potter/Original Female Character(s), Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, past Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley - Relationship
Comments: 6
Kudos: 77





	1. Lightweight

Harry Potter is the chosen one. A gifted wizard. A good man. 

Harry Potter is also an arsehole when he’s hungover. 

“Potter,” I greet, as he sits next to me at the staff table. “Feeling a little sensitive are we?” 

“Fuck off Audrey.” He reaches out for the teapot at the end of the table tiredly. “You’re the one that told me I should have the last half of that wine.” 

“You’re the one that drank it,” I say, absently poking at my breakfast. “Say, Harry — what do you think of the greasy pork sausages on offer today? The fat in it should sit very comfortably in your turning stomach-”

He gags a little, bending forwards to shield his discomfort from any onlooking students. 

I sip my cup of pumpkin juice to hide my smile. 

“Bitch,” he croaks. 

I roll my eyes. “Lightweight.” 

“You really are Harry.” Neville takes a seat next me, grinning at us both. He'd let Harry sleep on his sofa overnight, when it became transparent he wasn't going to make it home. “You clearly didn’t partake in the celebrations the rest of us did after the war, did you?” 

“Neville, take pity on me. Please.” 

Neville raises a brow at me. “The Boy Who Lived? More like the Boy Who Dances to the Weird Sisters after three firewhisky shots.” 

I burst into laughter. Even Harry huffs a reluctant chuckle. 

Harry and I were unusual friends. He’d joined the faculty the year before I did, after the previous Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher resigned. He’d not recognised me from school, a detail that mortified him but made total sense to me; he’d more important things to deal with at the time. 

“I could brew you a sober-up potion,” I offer. “But tit-for-tat Potter. What will you give me in return?”

“Are you sure you’re a Ravenclaw?” Harry mumbles, head on the table. “That was awfully Slytherin of you.” 

“Ah, but it’s all in the pursuit of knowledge you see.” I don’t tell him that the Sorting Hat had taken quite a while to decide whether or not I should be put in Slytherin. 

He looks at me pleadingly. I am not swayed — he knows what I want. (We both know that, ordinarily, I would give him it for free.)

After only a moment more of hesitation, he sighs. “Fine. I’ll teach you how to cast a Patronus.” 

I grin, delighted, and elbow him in the side. “Cheers Harry. I’ve actually got a couple in my stores, I’ll go grab one before your first class.”

“So you don’t have to brew- oh.” Harry glares at me. “You’re unbelievable.” 

I wink at him, standing from the table and ready to take my leave. “I know. But think of the satisfaction you’ll feel when I finally manage to cast a Patronus!”

“I’d get more satisfaction from kissing a garden gnome.” 

“Just as I enjoy torturing you at breakfast far more than curing your hangover,” I counter, patting him on the shoulder as I walk past him. “But we have to sacrifice a few things to get what we want, don’t we?” 

Neville’s laughter rings loudly as I move past him, much to the curiosity of the students closest to our table. I smile, wink at them, and they giggle. 

As Potions master, I consider it my personal duty to improve quite a terrible historical reputation.


	2. Breakup

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry breaks up with Ginny. Audrey gives him some advice.

I am reading before bed when there is a knock on the door that makes me go still, not expecting it so late at night. 

I pull a dressing gown around myself, prop my glasses on the bridge of my nose, and make my way to the door. No student would be able to get here, anyway; the privilege of student visitation on an evening remains with the heads of houses (a daily irritation according to Neville, who found that the majority of the nightly calls were not serious). 

When I open the door, I expect Neville with an emergency message on behalf of the Gryffindors, or Minerva with an emergency at worst. 

It’s neither. It’s Harry. Harry, who doesn’t even live in the castle.

He blinks at me like he’s surprised to see me. “Audrey.” 

“Harry? Everything alright?” 

“Uh,” he swallows thickly, eyes red. “Yeah. I’m not, though.” 

His bottom lip wobbles a little. Just a little, but it’s enough to make my heart drop into my stomach. 

I open the door wider to let him in. “I’ll make tea.” 

“Got anything stronger?” 

“Maybe after we’ve talked, eh?” I tell him gently. 

Harry nods, agreeing without protest. He drops onto the sofa, in front of the fire, like a rock. 

I make the tea by hand. It didn’t taste the same when it was made with magic; not in my mind, anyway. I hand him a cup and sit next to him. “What’s going on Harry?” 

He doesn’t look at me. “I- I’m not sure how to… I don’t know anyone other than you who doesn’t know her, so I thought-”

He stops. I don’t rush him. 

“It’s Gin,” he says finally, voice painfully quiet. “Ginny. We broke up.”

“Oh Harry,” I murmur, reach out to wrap an arm around his shoulder. “I’m sorry. I know how much she meant to you.” 

And I did. Harry, when we’d first met, spoke about her on a daily basis. How wonderful and funny and caring she was; how lucky he was to find the love of his life so young. I never got the chance to meet her, but everyone spoke about her in the same way. I was happy for them.

Neville and I had both noticed how despondent he had become when talking about the young Quidditch player, but had decided it best not to say anything. Now, it made sense.

“Things haven’t been the same for a while now,” he continues, almost like I’m not there. “We don’t talk as much, not about anything that matters anyway. We both tried, for so long, but it just didn’t- it didn’t-”

A little sob crackles in his throat. It breaks my heart. “Oh Harry.” 

“I don’t know why. I don’t understand. It’s not her fault, or mine, but even after everything we’ve been through together… I don’t understand why we can’t make it work.” 

I consider my words carefully before speaking. “Do you want actual advice, or do you just want me to listen? Either is fine.” 

A corner of his mouth quirks in a little smile. “Actual advice.” 

“I think,” I start slowly. “The two of you fell in love in some rather adverse circumstances. You had an awful lot going on in your personal life. You were being pulled in so many different directions, it’s no wonder you were kind of…”

“Erratic?” 

“Yeah. And I think all that pressure meant you didn’t get a lot of time to figure out who you actually were, because you were always trying to be who people needed. There is a huge difference between those two things. So when the war ended, and you stopped being that person all the time, you settled into yourself. Ginny probably did too. And now it’s not the same as before because, well-”

“Because it’s not,” Harry mumbles dully, not looking at me. 

“Yeah.” I watch him uncertainly. “That doesn’t make it any easier to accept though, does it?” 

“No.” He finally meets my eyes. “But it does help. Thank you.” 

“Of course. Whatever you need.” 

Harry takes a sip of his tea, tears still slipping over his cheeks, but far more relaxed than when he first came in the door. “What do I do now?”

I fix my eyes on a spot above the mantle. The photo frame holding a picture of Jamie and I is face down, so I don’t have to look at it anymore, but I can still see his face, a Ravenclaw scarf wrapped around both of our shoulders. “Is Ginny still home?” 

“Yes.” 

“You can sleep on the sofa, if you want. Go home and try and patch it up tomorrow, when you’re rested.”

He sighs, relieved, leaning his head onto my shoulder. “If you don’t mind, that would be great.” 

I pat him gently on the shoulder and stand to my feet. “I’ll grab you some blankets. Do you want dreamless sleep too?”

He swallows thickly, looking disturbed for a moment. “No.” 

Taken off guard, I stare at him for a moment before nodding. “Alright. That’s fine.” 

He’s stressed, distraught. I let the moment of snappiness go. 

Then, voice cracking, he teases, “Those blankets better not be blue. You got any red in there?”

I smile reluctantly as I rifle through my trunk at the base of my bed. Same old Harry. “Beggers can’t be choosers Potter!” 

“Sure they can. I came to the best, didn’t I?” 

Despite knowing it is totally platonic, my cheeks warm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! I hope you like this one. I’m fitting in these little drabbles in between my Masters degree, so I hope you will accept my apologies if the next is a little late. Wishing you all well. X


	3. Dreamless Sleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Audrey tries to help Harry sleep with a potion. She learns something surprising.
> 
> Warnings at the end.

“Harry.” 

Harry doesn’t look up and continues marking the stack of parchment on his lap. “Yeah?” 

“It’s four in the morning. You have classes tomorrow. Well, today. In five hours, actually.” 

Minerva is working on getting him a room, but until then he’s staying with me. While I’m more than happy to share the room with him, I’m missing my favourite sofa. Harry has claimed it as his own and will not move, stretching his legs out and taking up all available space. I’m determined to have my own special brand of revenge when his room is ready, but until then the Boy Who Steals Sofas shall remain. 

“Yeah?” 

I huff in frustration, shooting him an unimpressed look he doesn’t see. “This isn’t healthy, Harry. You need to sleep!” 

“If I could sleep, do you think I’d be grading the first years’ essays on magical theory? If this can’t send me to sleep, nothing will.” 

I'm not deterred. “Why won’t you take the dreamless sleep potion? Just until you feel better, please. You’ll make yourself sick like this.” 

Harry looks up then, tired-eyed and miserable. “Audrey, I said no.” 

“Help me understand,” I try, sitting next to him. “Did you take a bad potion once? I’m good at my job, I promise. I won’t poison you.”

He sighs, rubbing his eyes. “I trust your potion making, that’s not… I don’t know what you want me to say.” 

“If you’re nervous, it’s harmless in regulated doses. It’s just that I’m worried about you. You’re one of my best friends, Harry, and I want to help you. But I won’t push, if you’re really sure.” 

Harry hesitates for a few moments, pulling at the threads in his blanket. Then, he sighs. “I know it’s harmless in regulated doses. But I’ve never… I’ve never taken dreamless sleep in regulated doses.” 

It takes a moment for me to realise what he’s saying, but when I do my heart might as well have fallen out of my chest. “Oh, Harry.” 

He can’t look at me, mouth a thin line. 

After the war, many witches and wizards who had been touched by the conflict resorted to potions and self-help spells to help them deal with the trauma. 

Dreamless sleep potions had been among the most popular; afraid of the night-terrors returning, some people never stop taking it and find their tolerance to the potion increasing. Too far over the recommended dose too often and it’s all too easy to become addicted. 

It’s seen as horribly shameful in some wizarding families to be an addict, so it’s not totally uncommon to hear of people who don’t get help. People who sleep a little too much and a little too long; people who mix it in with their morning coffee in small amounts to fend off the shakes, but barely able to stay awake for the rest of the day. 

Worst case scenario, people who go to sleep at night and never wake up again. 

It makes sense, for Harry to be the kind of person to resort to sleeping potions. He’d experienced trauma and loss for most of his schooling career and, if the rumours are to be believed, most of his pre-Hogwarts years too. His nightmares in his fifth year had been well-known; of course he would use Dreamless Sleep. 

That I’m so surprised by this makes me feel ashamed; even now, in some instances, I still see the Golden Boy I’d so admired in school. But he's just a man like any other, trying to move on from the war.

“I took it the first time the night Voldemort came back at the Triwizard tournament,” he says quietly. “It helped. I’d not really thought about it again until after the Battle of Hogwarts, you know? And it just kind of… spiralled. It took a long time to get off it.”

“I’m sorry Harry. I-I shouldn’t have pushed.” Even if he’d have given in and taken some, it wouldn’t have worked. His immunity would be too high.

“You didn’t know, it’s okay. Apart from Ginny and some of the healers at St Mungo’s, nobody does. I don’t think she realised how bad it was either until I didn’t wake up one morning.” 

“Oh Harry.” 

“But I’m fine now,” he says, with forced cheer. “A fully functioning insomniac, but doing alright.” Then, more gently. “I’ll be fine soon. You don’t have to worry about me.” 

Realising that I’m not going to be able to do much more for him, I concede defeat. “Well. Somebody has to.” 

Harry smiles, raising the papers in his hand at me hopefully. “Fancy marking some magical theory work with me?”

I roll my eyes, drawing my night-robe around myself and taking myself back to my bed. “Not feeling that sorry for you Potter. Do your own work.” 

He laughs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked this one! 
> 
> The idea of addiction to certain substances after trauma happens; I imagine the wizarding world would be no different. 
> 
> Let me know what you think.


	4. Red

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry moves into the castle.

I knock on Harry’s door, bottle of wine hand. 

He opens it, grinning when he sees me. “Hey. What’s that you’ve got there?” 

“Housewarming,” I say. “Room-warming. Whatever. Now let me in, I want to see if it’s bigger than mine.” 

Harry opens the door wider, stepping out of the way to let me in. “We can get our rulers out if you like, compare sizes.” 

I clip him over the head as I walk past him. “Shut up Potter. I’ve got no interest in seeing how big your…” I pause. “Oh fucking hell, it is bigger though!” 

I could easily extend the parameters of my room if I so desired, of course, but it was the principle of the thing. 

“Minerva did it,” he says, trying to hide his pleased smile. “Maybe Flitwick thought you needed humbling.” 

“Gryffindors,” I mutter, rolling my eyes. “Such show-offs. I think Fillius understood that I wanted a cosy space, with good views of the grounds and high ceilings. Minerva understood that you wanted… red?” 

Because it was. It was very, very red. 

“I like red,” Harry says mildly, passing me a glass and pointing his wand to the wine bottle on the table. It lifts into the air; I hold out my glass so that it can pour cleanly. 

“Well, I’m glad I brought white wine then.” I take a quick sip, enjoying the sweet taste. The wizarding world has introduced me to all sorts of new alcoholic drinks, but I still favoured the muggle wines my Mum sends me in the post. “I don’t think even the Weasley’s house is this scarlet. And if anyone needs…” I trail off, flushing. “Never mind.” 

“What?” 

“Doesn’t matter.” 

Now he looks intrigued. “Go on.” 

“I was about to say something wholly untrue.” 

“Oh?” 

“And be entirely too kind.” 

“Audrey.”

After a moment of intense staring, each daring the other to look away first, I stick my tongue out at him and take a large mouthful of wine. I mumble. 

Harry cups a hand over his ear, grinning and expectant. “What was that?” 

“I said,” I say, exasperated and now, myself, bright red. “I was going to say that you were the one that needed humbling, if anyone, but that just isn’t true.” 

“…Oh.” He blinks, genuinely surprised. Our friendship operates largely on teasing, swearing, and just plain rudeness at times; he’s as likely to get blood out of a stone as he is to receive a compliment from me, unless the circumstances are dire. “Really?” 

I roll my eyes. “Don’t play daft Harry. You had your moments in your fifth year, but I think you were allowed to be a little obnoxious when the whole world was acting like you were crazy. All I’ve ever known of you is a young man quite desperate to stay out of the limelight and keep your feet on the ground.” I let a small smile curve my lips. “Apart from in Quidditch, I suppose.”

Touched, he doesn’t react to the joke. His eyes are uncertain, searching mine. “Do you really think so?”

What have people said to him over the years to make him like this? How can it be that the world has made one of the most talented wizards of our age so insecure? I can't bear it. “Yes, Harry. Unless people actively disliked you, for one reason or another, there were very few people who thought you were a prat. Not with your fame, at least.” Then, gently, “And I guarantee you it’s the last thing your students think. They just see Professor Potter: the goofy, scruffy-haired teacher who sometimes gives them too much homework.” 

Harry takes a quick drink, mulling over my words. Then, quietly, “Don’t forget handsome.” 

“Feet on the ground,” I remind him drily. 

He looks at for a moment in the comfortable quiet that follows, eyes unreadable. I watch him patiently. 

He opens his mouth, ready to speak, when there’s a knock at the door. Neither of us move.

“That’ll be Neville,” I say dumbly. 

“Right.” After a second more of hesitation, he gets up to answer the door. 

I’m almost disappointed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked this one! I'm sorry for the delay, I've been super busy with MA work but I'm back on track now. 
> 
> Keep safe during these crazy times, friends. Wishing you all well :) x


	5. Ex-Boyfriend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neville, Harry, and Audrey go to the Three Broomsticks for a night out. She realises something important.

As soon as I walk into the Three Broomsticks - hair wet with snow and, quite frankly, frozen - I turn on my heel and leave.

I press my back to the old brick next to the entrance, heart pounding and fingers numb. 

Neville pokes his head out of the door, frowning, takes in how I’m huddled against the wall. “You alright?” 

I shake my head vehemently. “Absolutely not."

He considers me for a moment. “Do you want to talk about it, or do you just need a minute?”

“It’s my ex-boyfriend,” I say in a rush, because I won’t say it otherwise. “He’s at the bar.” 

Neville’s face falls, realising. “Oh. _That_ one?” 

“Yeah. I can’t go in there.” 

Then Harry appears, frowning. “Everything okay?” 

Neville wraps an arm around my shoulder. I lean into him appreciatively. “Ex-boyfriend.” 

Harry’s looks at me curiously. “The one we’ve heard of, or the one you wouldn’t tell us about?” 

I say nothing, which answers the question just fine. Harry's face tightens.

“We can go to the Hogs Head if you want,” Neville says gently. “Hannah would understand.”

I swallow thickly, seriously considering it. But despite the Hog’s Head being something of a haunt for many of the visiting ex-students who had used it during the war, it still wasn’t the Three Broomsticks. “No. No, I can’t let him put me off.” 

“We’re with you,” Harry says, smiling kindly. His eyes, though, are sharp as steel. “If he comes over, we’ll tell him to fuck off. Okay?” 

I bite my tongue, trying not to smile. “I’m pretty sure that would hit the Prophet.” 

He shrugs. “I don’t care.” 

Something in my chest flutters, heat rising in my cheeks.

_Oh no._

I force a smile, wrapping my arms around my chest. “Yeah, well, I do. So don’t do that.” 

Neville’s smile takes on a certain edge, then, as he looks between the two of us. “Come on then. We’re with you, okay?” 

I swallow, inhale bracingly. “Yeah. Okay.” 

Neville gives me one last little comforting rub on the back before disappearing inside.

Harry catches my arm before I can follow him. I raise a brow, questioning.

“Hey.” Harry points under his jaw, tilting it back. “Chin up. Fuck him.”

I laugh breathlessly, lift my chin a little. “Yeah. Fuck him.”

The way he looks at me, grinning generously, showing his teeth - so different to him, I think suddenly, _so_ different - makes my chest ache. When he wraps an arm around my waist  as we walk in, I don’t even feel cold. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for my absence! I work in a pub and it's been very difficult trying to get through the enforced closure, so writing has had to take a back seat. 
> 
> However, my family and friends are healthy and safe. That's all I can ask for. I hope you are staying healthy and safe too!


	6. Potions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neville takes a potions class. He is more observant that Audrey might like.

Neville frowns down at his cauldron. “I’m not sure if this is right."

I stand and make my way to him, peer down at the colour of the concoction in his cauldron, then smile. “It’s great Neville! Have a little confidence. You’re doing it exactly right.”

He doesn’t look reassured. If anything, he looks even paler than when we began. “Snape always said-”

“I know what Snape said,” I interrupt sharply. “He was wrong. There’s no such thing as a lost cause, Neville. Snape just didn’t want to try.”

Neville had once tentatively told me, upon seeing me testing students’ work, that he wished he was better at potions. It would help him with his Herbology work, he said, if he was better at more than just theoretical Potions.

That had been all I had to hear. I’d offered him lessons that would be gentler, kinder, and _better_ than those offered by the bitter man who’d belittled us in school.

(While Harry might have been able to forgive Snape, I still found it difficult to understand all of his cruelty.

I still dealt with first years who were terrified of their first potions lessons, after the horror stories they’d heard from their parents. It would take more to convince me that he was a good man than hearing that he was a double agent.)

I think I’ve managed to do better. At the very least, Neville no longer shakes when he enters the dungeons.

“What’s next?” I ask.

Neville hesitates. “Lacewing flies.”

“How many?”

“Five.”

“And?”

“I need to stir counterclockwise for two minutes, then clockwise for five.”

I smile widely, pat him on the back. “Get to it then. Don’t need me here at all, do you?”

Neville smiles a little, a tentative thing, but it’s a start. He portions out the Lacewing flies and then drops them in.

I return to my desk and my marking, lighting the candles above us with my wand. I’d found the place so unbearably dreary when I’d first started that I’d taken the liberty of making the place more appealing. Candles hovered above the students in much the same way they do in the great hall; class photos hung on the walls.

Students who had attended muggle schools hated the familiar ritual with a passion, especially because they weren’t warned. Students who had not found it odd, but fascinating to see static images instead of moving ones.

“Did Harry get around to teaching you the Patronus charm yet?”

I smile down at my paperwork, shake my head. “No, but I’ve already told him he’s on a countdown. He’s got until Christmas to at least start me with the basics.”

“I see.” He’s quiet for a moment. “Looking forward to it?”

“Of course.” I send him a deliberately wide smile. A warning. “I’ve always wanted to learn how to cast a Patronus. I missed out on your secret classes.”

Neville fixes me with a knowing look. “That’s not what I meant.”

_Goddammit._ “Neville.”

“Audrey.”

“Please,” I say softly. I could never lie to him. It was like he could see right through me. I didn’t want to say it out loud.

He presses his lips together, sighs. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

“I know. It’s just…” My hands shake, quill hovering over parchment. “I’m not the first girl and I’m not the last. It’s almost embarrassing. Like having a phase that’s not cool anymore.”

“But you feel it?”

I don’t look at him.

Neville nods slowly, jaw working as if he’s trying to find the right words. “You should tell him.”

“Absolutely not,” I say sharply. “I’m not a teenager anymore. While I’m not afraid of telling someone if I’m interested in them, I’m not about to ruin a good friendship because of it. We work together. I comforted him after his girlfriend broke up with him. It doesn’t feel right.” I swallow thickly. “Anyway, enough of this. You’ll ruin your potion if you get any more distracted.”

“Okay,” he says quietly. He is still for a moment before returning his attention to his potion. “I’m here, though. If you need me.”

I smile a little down at the O.W.Ls work in front of me, even though it is most definitely going to get a T. “Thank you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I'm feeling super productive at the moment, so I've been wanting to get more content of this out. 
> 
> I hope you are all keeping safe and healthy.


	7. Patronus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry teaches Audrey how to cast a patronus. 
> 
> Warnings at the end, if you'd like to see them.

“I can’t believe you’re making me do this.”

“Focus, Aud.”

I shut my eyes forcefully, breathe through the wave of frustration rising in my chest. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

Harry smiles at me from his desk, eyes glittering with amusement. “Meditation works. If you spend some time clearing your mind, it will be easier for you to think of a memory when we start again.”

“You do this with you students?”

“Of course.”

“And they actually do it?”

“Not everyone is allergic to being told what to do, you know.”

“Ha ha.”

The patronus was more difficult to conjure than I thought. After more than two hours of brainstorming, practice, frustration, and a few tears, this was it. Harry’s master plan: muggle meditation.

“Clear your mind.” 

I grit my teeth. “How is this different to occlumency?”

“You use magic to help in occlumency.” He pauses. “Snape tried to teach me it in my fifth year, you know. I couldn’t do it, which I thought was because I was just bad at it. Turns out it what I was trying to practice was just meditation, not occlumency. He didn’t explain what I was doing wrong.”

“You can’t block magic without magic,” I murmur. “He was in your head. He knew exactly what you were doing wrong and didn’t tell you.”

“Yeah.”

“Dickhead.”

Harry laughs. “Right. Anyway come on, back to work.”

I exhale, relax, and try not to think.

*

As soon as I start, it seems, we finish.

“Audrey.” He’s gentle, the quietest I’ve ever heard him.

It still startles me, eyes snapping open. It’s like breaking the surface after a long time under water. I blink repeatedly, trying to bring myself back to work. “Woah. I did it.”

He smiles widely, showing teeth. “What is the happiest moment of your life?”

Earlier, there had been so many memories: my first day at Hogwarts as a child, winning my first duel, kissing my first boyfriend, sitting at the staff table for the first time, the moment we won the war. But all of them seem to pale in comparison to the first thing on my mind when he asks me now.

“Oh,” I murmur softly.

Harry tilts his head. “Is that a good ‘oh?’”

I exhale deeply, shrug my shoulders. “The memory is strong, but I wouldn’t say it’s necessarily happy. But yeah, I think it’s the one.”

“Okay then.” He stands up, myself following suit. He nudges me encouragingly as I rise my wand, drawing my attention. “Focus on it. Let it fill you up, that moment, then cast it. Okay? Take as long as you need.”

I hold my wand tightly and remember. I remember it like it was yesterday, the relief, the joy, the tears. When I speak, my voice cracks. “Expecto Patronum.”

There is no simple mist from my wand now. As soon as I cast the charm, the creature bursts from my wand like lightning.

I stare in complete disbelief as a mare, tall and beautiful, sprints around the office. It noses at the papers on the desk before approaching the two of us. It’s so bright it hurts my eyes, but I don’t close them for a moment.

When I reach out to touch it’s nose, it evaporates out of existence.

Neither of us say anything for a long time.

“That was a very powerful patronus,” Harry says suddenly, sounding baffled. “You’ve barely gotten more than mist for the whole session. Most people don’t get to this stage for weeks. You don’t need to tell me what memory you chose, but I can tell you this: I’ve never seen someone make progress that fast.”

“I was looking for the wrong kind of memory,” I say after a moment, quiet. Any louder and I am liable to break into pieces. “Happiness is a simple thing. But partnered with something stronger…” I trail off, thinking.

“The war?” He asks gently. “Lots of people I’ve spoken to about their patronus choose the moment they realised Voldemort was dead, or the moment they saw his body in the great hall.”

“I tried that,” I admit, taking the time to sink into the chair across from Harry’s desk. “But no dice.” I consider Harry for a moment. “Can I be honest with you?”

His brows furrow immediately, seriously. “Of course. Anything.”

I am so hopelessly endeared that I can’t fight a smile. “My parents and I went on the run at the end of my sixth year. A little before everyone else, but we wanted a head start. Mum worked at the ministry, so she could see the tides were turning. My Dad’s a muggle. If we got caught…” I swallow that thought. “Somewhere in Wales, snatchers caught up to us. We got separated in the chase and I totally lost them. At one point I heard my Mum scream and my Dad shout, spells flying off everywhere, but it was clearly quite a distance away. I tried to find them, but I couldn’t. It was so dark. I ended up just wandering for hours without a clue where I was going, or if it was already too late. I couldn’t apparate either, so I just walked. I walked and walked for days, but I couldn’t find them. I thought they were _dead_.”

My chest heaves, jaw trembling, and Harry reaches out to hold my hand. I hold it back tightly.

“Eventually, I stopped. I was exhausted and they had all the supplies, so I was starving. I ate bark and moss, anything that looked non-poisonous. I tried apparating multiple times over the next couple of weeks, but had to stop when I splinched myself quite badly. Lost most of the skin on my left hand and forearm. I thought I was either going to die there, or be found by the snatchers and _then_ die.”

I can remember it, the hunger, so painful it was crippling. I clawed in the dirt like an animal, looking for anything that I could put in my stomach. I drank water from a dirty stream and vomited it all up more than once. But none of it was worse than thinking I was alone. I’d scream just to hear myself, to remember that I was alive.

I say none of this out loud.

“And then?” Harry prompts gently.

“I woke up one morning and there they were.” It was as simple as that. “They’d been caught, but knew I’d not been. They escaped after a physical fight. Dad used to be a boxer. They knew I couldn’t have gone far, so they just kept looking. I was so sick I couldn’t move when they woke me up, but I’d never been so happy. So relieved. I cried for hours while Mum sorted out my arm. I’d felt so numb for so long it overwhelmed me.” I can’t quite look at Harry, even though I’m still holding his hand. “For a moment I thought I’d died. Even though I was wrong, I thought it was all over. I thought I was talking to my dead parents and I was so happy I couldn’t feel anything else.”

His eyes are a little wet, when I finally look up at him.

“I’m sorry,” he says hoarsely. “That you had to go through that.”

I shake my head, knowing what he’s thinking. “It’s not your fault Harry.”

“I know. But all the same… I wish I’d been there. To help you through it.”

My heart stutters in my chest and I smile a little. “You big softie.”

He wipes at his eyes and stands up straight, clearing his throat. Finally, giving my hand one last squeeze, he lets go. “If you can, if you want, would you like to give it another go? Just to make sure you’ve got it?”

Harry’s giving me a chance, I realise, to stop. To have a rest from the memory, without me having to say so. He’s listened, clearly troubled by it, but given me his sympathy the chance to move on from it if I don’t want to talk about it anymore with him.

I take him in for a moment, this lovely boy who’s managed to make a home inside my chest, and think about it.

I stand up and raise my wand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Descriptions of extreme hunger. As someone who has had experience with not having enough money to eat for long periods of time, I know it can be extremely triggering to read and hear about. I also don't want to trigger someone with an eating disorder. 
> 
> Let me know what you think of this chapter. I hope everyone is safe and well.


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